Recently, my brother's elderly neighbor Bill passed away. He lived alone, and some family members are taking care of his affairs. They had put some furniture out by the mailboxes for free, and as I walked out to get my brother's mail my attention was drawn to an armchair. It was rust colored, nice condition except the obvious wear marks at the ends of the arms. They were blackened with wear. I thought that must have been his favorite chair, and wondered how many hours he sat there, alone. Was he watching TV? Reading? Did he regret never having been married or having children? I'll never know. It's funny how such a little thing can make a wave of sadness rush over you. It made me think that there was this man I barely knew, but his lonely chair out at the side of road seemed to speak volumes. I know a chair is an inanimate object, yet I couldn't help but wonder if the chair missed him. People can leave vibrations behind on their belongings, I firmly believe that.
I actually felt sorry for the chair. I wanted to take it home like you would a stray dog, and let it continue to be loved, but I have no room for it. I hope someone will take it and give it a good home. I think what really made me sad is that old saying- "You can't take it with you." That's very true. I shouldn't feel so sad about Bill though, he had a good life as far as I know and a long one. I know he had cancer and suffered horribly at the end of his life, which can account for more sadness I feel. It makes me think of my Grandmother, who was such a wonderful woman, and suffered the same fate. Why do so many good people have to suffer so badly? That's the age old question which there will never be a satisfactory answer to.
I've had a poem brewing in my mind all day since I saw the chair, so let's see if I can get it out here.
Bill's Chair
The rust-colored chair stood by the side of the road by the mailboxes. "Free" for the taking.
The arms of the chair worn black and fraying.
Honest, hard working hands caressed those arms not long ago, while their body was aching.
The chair must be surprised to be out by the mailboxes, instead of in it's place.
Maybe the daily mail was read from it's comfort.
Bill may be gone now, but he's left a trace.
Lonely chair, do you think it misses him?
Well, so much for that, my muse appears to have flown. I need to get back to writing more.
